Senses
by Random Inspired
Summary: Written for the prompt 'Strip Club'. Castiel has been working for Mr. Winchester for six and a half years. He is getting fed up.


Castiel watched as his boss loosened his tie, watching the curvy strippers move up and down the poles sensually, eyes hungry as they roamed around the ill lit room, a leer fixed tight on his face, ready to get started.

Castiel coughed, reminding him he wasn't alone. "Mr. Winchester, are you really sure this is an appropriate place to be going on your lunch break?"

"Oh lighten up, Cas!"

His assistant moved his briefcase from hand to hand and muttered under his breath, "Castiel."

"What was that?" Mr. Winchester's eyes were back on the dancers.

"Nothing sir." Castiel replied, the only show of his annoyance was a tightening on the corners of his lips.

He wasn't really sure what he was doing here. His boss had dragged him out for 'lunch out' as he had put it at the time. Castiel really, seriously did not want to eat here. He was afraid he had already contracted at least four sexually transmitted illnesses just by breathing in the place.

But Mr. Winchester was sitting down at a table, so he did too, ignoring the waitress wearing almost only a smile and too much eye shadow.

His superior chuckles as Cas refused to meet the woman's eyes. "Don't worry sweetheart, he's just nervous."

Mr. Winchester leans across the table and places a hand on Castiel's arm, grin large, toothy, and screamingly fake.

"Come on Cas! Lunch is on me!"

And that was where Castiel hit his breaking point.

Cas had never had anger issues, was never violent. As a child he had been mild mannered and sweet, listening to what was requested of him and not questioning it. But he was tired of it.

He whirled on Dean, eyes flashing with anger as he leaned forward into the man's personal space, teeth clenched.

"My _name _ is Castiel. I have had enough of you treating me like your friend Mr. Winchester!" His hands lay flat on the table, palms pressing down so hard it hurt. His knuckles were turning white from his grip on the edges. "I am not your friend. I am your assistant. I am paid to do your filing, set up your appointments and pretend I didn't see you blowing a man yesterday!"

He was spitting with anger now. He understood more now the phrase, 'blood boiling.' He could feel it pumping through his body, licking through his veins, feeding off his anger like a bonfire.

He was so caught up in the inferno he didn't even take a moment of satisfaction at Dean's eyes widening in fear at the last little tidbit of information.

But some part of him, the wild, merciless side, sensed the weakness and pounced, leaning even closer.

"Yes I saw that. We both know I did. If you didn't we wouldn't be in this trashy bar while you try to prove your heterosexuality to me."

Castiel stands, his trenchcoat swirling around his knees dramatically.

"Consider this my notice. I quit."

It wasn't like he hadn't toyed with the idea of quitting before. He had been working this same, dead end job for six and a half years now, not even getting a raise and taking Dean's mocking the entire time.

He didn't once consider that Dean had genuinely liked him or wanted to be friends. Mr. Winchester was in charge of him. He owned his services from nine until five every weekday. And often Castiel went into the office on weekends, knowing his boss would not have finished his forms from the week before and finishing them for him, often leaving Deans favourite chocolate bar of the month next to the completed paperwork.

It wasn't out of affection; he told himself as he stormed out of the strip club, it was because he went above and beyond in his work, in all things.

He always did twice what was needed of him.

He growled as rain hit the top of his head after leaving the building.

Of course.

The fact that he also felt a small stab of relief at the wetness had nothing to do with the stinging in his eyes he told himself sharply.

He wasn't going to cry over quitting a job he had hated and resented for six and a half years.

He took a deep breath and did what he had trained himself to do every time he started getting overwhelmed. Make a check-list through his senses.

He felt tears spill over and the taste of defeat on his tongue. He could smell the fresh rain and normally it would make him smile.

Needless to say it didn't. The most that happened was a bitter twist of his lips.

He might cry over Dean.

He watched blearily was raindrops sprung up after their collision with the ground, shattering into pieces, flying off in different directions.

He heard the pitter-patter of the drops and... The slapping of feet on wet cement?

He turned and barely had enough time to register Deans face before he was dragged into an alley and pushed against the rough bricks.

They dug into the small of his back roughly. Cas savoured the feeling, finding it grounded him against the sudden rush of anger.

Dean's hands were warm through his damp clothing.

More than warm, they were almost burning.

Castiel forced himself to glare at Dean as harshly as he could.

"Cas." Dean uses his nick-name deliberately and the glare wasn't as hard to force. But Dean's voice is raspy and desperate and Castiel can feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

"What."

It doesn't sound as nearly as harsh as he wanted.

But Dean is still speechless. Castiel can feel his hands clench on the tan fabric of his coat and the warm puffs of air coming from between Dean's panting lips. He can hear the slight rasp on the inhales, he wonders absently just how long Dean was left sitting struck dumb in the dusky whore house for him to have to sprint all out to catch up to him. His lips are also parted, he notices, he can taste the rain on them now, it's coming down harder.

His and Dean's gazes are still unwavering.

"I need you." Was what finally broke the silence.

Cas wondered just how he was supposed to read that.

He opened his mouth to ask but he stopped when Dean leaned closer, pressing their foreheads together.

"Cas, I _need_ you." Dean's voice sounded devastated and needy and like his world was being ripped out from under him.

Castiel knew his eyes were wide. He could feel himself breathing heavier. He felt his chest and throat close tighter.

He wondered how long he could fight what he knew.

What he had known for six and a half years.

He was still stuck fast in Dean's green eyes.

"Dean..." The word was whispered and husky. It wasn't a long winded speech about how Cas needed him too. About how Cas loved him, had always loved him.

Would always love him.

But Dean knew that the one word was all of that, just paraphrased.

His lips quirked into a lopsided and relieved smile, his hands slid up Cas's neck, cradled his jaw a moment before they continued their journey and ended cupping his cheeks.

"Castiel."

Cas snorted with laughter, breaking the moment. "Aren't you the one who always says, 'no chick flick moments'?" He could feel a giddiness rising up in the pit of his stomach.

Dean paused. "Shut up, Cas."

He was grinning as he dropped his hands and caught Castiel's in a warm grip.

Cas squeezed them, grinning back, full and wide, before pressing a quick kiss to Dean's cheek.

He heard Dean's laugh, could smell his aftershave, tasted rain on his lips from Dean's cheek, he felt his heart beating fast in his chest.

And he could see a future ahead.


End file.
